Tuesday, February 24, 2015

My song

Past slow streams, and paddy plains,
A gentle breeze, the drizzling rain,
A blue-bird tries catch-up in vain,
To a soulful beat, my rocking train

Back ten years, my numb mind panes,
A time that sure no more remains,
Had no money and had no pains,
Nor plans beyond the morrow made,

When music was the sole refrain,
And dreams my waiting soul had gained,
To love, I was not yet ordained,
Just longings that were best contained,

In the sleepy city, along the drain,
My good 'ol car, on a narrow lane,
Driving with the rolled down panes,
Humming a tune the radio made,

Next to me, the guitar he played,
My fingers drummed on the wheel splayed,
On a sharp high note, our voices strained,
In my head they'd still remained!

A thousand miles about to end,
Round the last corner, the rail-road bends,
Draws up to the station almost spent,
In my notebook, these words I pen:

If there'd be something that I could ask of life,
That'd be to make music when the sun shines,
'Cause when the night falls and darkness stays,
While I sleep, I'd hope my song still plays.

- A

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